


As Time Goes By

by GreyFinch



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 09:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyFinch/pseuds/GreyFinch
Summary: A series of short stories exploring Crowley and Aziraphale's encounters through time, and the evolution of their relationship.





	As Time Goes By

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place in 614 BC, in the city of Danyang, China.
> 
> (For some reason I thought Crowley changed his name in Mesopotamia, but turns out that happened in Golgotha. So uh this is an AU where he changes his name earlier lmao)
> 
> Please enjoy, and thank you for reading!

614 BC: Danyang, Chu, China

It was a particularly warm summer afternoon, which promised to become a similarly warm evening in a few hours time. The sun was a lingering brilliance on the horizon, unimpeded by even a single cloud. Soon it would be swallowed up by the mountains to the west, but Aziraphale had a very good feeling that the stifling heat would persist even after it set. 

Whatever breeze there may have been was snuffed out by the cluster of pedestrians in the open marketplace. Bodies shifted together so tightly but fluidly that it was all very much like some sort of cooperative dance. Everyone knew where they were going, and even the customers and merchants who were stationary and transfixed in conversation were able to contort to allow passers by without interruption. They had done this before, perhaps daily, and would continue to do it for many years to come. 

Aziraphale had been here for a handful of days, and he did not have their experience.

“Dreadfully sorry,” he simpered as he checked to make sure the young woman he had accidentally elbowed was alright. She didn’t even acknowledge his apology and continued her haggling, holding a few coins in hand and pointing animatedly at a slab of meat on the booth before her. The seller began to carve off a portion and Aziraphale moved on.

Although he had only been in Danyang for a few days, he had spent a decent amount of time in the country by now. Enough to catch the basics of the language (with the help of his angelic aptitude). Traders were shouting things like “Tea”, “Cloth”, and “Meat” all around him, along with some other words he couldn’t quite distinguish. Humans were quite amazing, coming up with all this themselves and being able to understand one another. Mostly. Some exceptions permitted.

He stopped by a booth that had a particularly fragrant smell, one that had attracted his attention from several yards away. An older woman stood before a wooden booth with handwoven baskets full of fruits, dried and otherwise, and fresh vegetables. Behind her, a man was crouched by a firepit and turning what appeared to be yams nestled in the coals to the side. That must have been the origin of the delightful smell.

As he smiled and felt on his belt for his coin purse, someone collided with him from behind. 

“Oh!”

He braced himself on the wooden counter as whoever was behind him rushed past and offered the seller an apologetic smile for jostling her stand. She simply stared at him with impatience. 

“My apologies. I was wondering if I could have one of your… oh what’s the word again…” he pondered this briefly as he was struck this time with a rogue elbow to the side and once again used the table ledge for support. A few apples careened out of their basket and onto the dirt by his feet. The offending party disappeared into the crowd with not so much as a look back at him.

“Yeah, hi,” a familiar voice said beside Aziraphale as he ducked down to pick up the fruit. “Got any alcohol? The booth two over said you might-- Ah, well look who it is!” 

Crawley flashed his white teeth as Aziraphale, who was knelt at his calves with a handful of apples. The angel straightened up and set down the fruit, proclaiming that he would take these as well as a yam, the word for which had finally popped back into his lexicon. 

“Crawley,” he said with his eyes forward, a bit miffed by all the rough treatment around him. As miffed as a heavenly being could be. 

“Changed it, remember,” the demon reminded him while he sorted through a couple of dried fruits. He settled on some figs and a pear, and the woman behind the counter lifted a ceramic jug with an impatient gesture to him to hand something over. He laughed a triumphant “yes!” as he untied the flagon at his hip to pass on to her. She filled it, and in that time he looked back down at Aziraphale. 

“You’re a bit far east, aren’t you?”

“I could note the same of you,” he said calmly, glancing sideways finally to Crawley. Crowley. He offered him a polite smile.

“What brings you here? Business, then?”

Crowley made a face that was difficult to describe yet easy to interpret as a ‘no’, and took back his now full flask. He dropped some coins on the table and jerked a thumb towards Aziraphale. 

“His too.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Aziraphale assured, but Crowley cocked an eyebrow in his direction.

“I think it is, since that bloke took off with your purse just now.”

“He wh-”

Aziraphale looked down at his belt, then around him in a mixture of confusion and genuine shock. Crowley’s smile turned a bit sympathetic behind his back as he gestured to the vendor to make that two yams. The angel turned back around indignantly. Perhaps in the future, he thought, it would be more efficient to quietly miracle his currency up instead of carrying it on his person in plain sight, tempting humans to steal it-- oh lord.

He took his food and regarded Crowley cooly.

“Well… thank you, I suppose.”

“Don’t.” 

Crowley walked away with his purchases and Aziraphale followed at his heels. He too was desperate to get out of the bazaar. 

“If not for business, just for pleasure then?” He asked as he began to peel the skin back from the yam, then blew on his fingers because it was still quite hot. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he said casually as he sniffed the mouth of his flagon before taking a drink. “And you? Didn’t much look like you were out here performing miracles just now.” 

“Well, not at the moment,” he admitted as he stared longingly down at his steaming food, willing it to cool despite the oppressive heat around them. “I may be ever-vigilant, but I’ve been given a bit of free time. So I decided to take a little walk.”

Crowley, who had successfully silenced a snort at the “ever-vigilant” part, could not hide his surprise at the last bit. “A _little walk_?”

Aziraphale smiled over his shoulder at him sheepishly. “Yes. Well, I suppose I went a bit farther than I’d meant to initially.”

“Uh huh.”

They walked through the market as successfully as two beings navigating a packed space while holding an armful of food could. Crowley was more adept at this than Aziraphale; he was able to slink between tight spaces as if it came as naturally as breathing. It might have, he supposed. He’d heard that the “other side” was quite cramped and crowded. Still, the demon must have slowed his pace to let Aziraphale keep up with him, because he hadn’t failed to notice the hand at his elbow or occasionally between his shoulder blades which helped him dodge a hurried patron or two. 

Eventually, they passed the more popular booths and were given a bit of breathing room, and from there it was smooth sailing to the edge of the town square. Although it was perhaps still a touch too hot, Aziraphale had started in on his yam at this point, unable to resist the smell of it any longer. Crowley popped a fig into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully as they walked in no particular direction, just so long as it was away from the swarm.

* * *

The buildings became scarcer the more they walked and nature took over more fully. Soon they found themselves at the join where the Dan river met the Xi river, and after some hemming and hawing they settled on following the banks of the Xi. 

Now some distance from the town, the weather was more palatable. A breeze swept past them occasionally, and although it wasn’t a cool one it did offer some relief from the stagnant heat. The trees rustled under its influence and birds Aziraphale had not yet heard before called out to their fellows. At length, they passed a bamboo sign post that said “Chu Jen”.

“So you were just bored?” 

Crowley continued an older train of thought as he offered his flagon over to Aziraphale. They found a spot by the river and took a seat close enough to the water to distinguish the pebbles underneath the surface. Aziraphale took the vessel and had a brief sip before passing it back. 

“ _Curious_.” He clarified. “I was curious.”

Crowley nodded and directed his shaded eyes to the side. Some ways downstream, shouting distance but perhaps not eavesdropping distance, there was a young boy who appeared to be washing some bowls. A bit farther down, if one cared to squint at the horizon, there was a hut on the side of a nearby hill. 

“And you walked some, what, five thousand kilometers? Six thousand?”

“Not _all at once_ , obviously. You know, I don’t know why this is so surprising to you,” Aziraphale said in a mild huff as he idly twisted the stem of his apple. “You must have done the same.”

Crowley snorted and picked up a pebble. He skimmed it across the river easily, and it bounced thrice on the surface of the water. 

“No. I took a cart. Not a very smooth ride, granted, but a hell of a lot faster than walking.” He stretched his lanky legs out in front of him and leaned back on his palms. 

The sun was setting, and in a matter of minutes they would be in darkness. For now, the sky was a brilliant orange and pink, and the water mirrored it perfectly. The smell of wet bark and foliage hung pleasantly in the air around them. It was a familiar scent; one of the first Crowley had encountered when he came up to the Garden. She had been sitting by the water. 

Was it pleasant, or just nostalgic?

“Let's play a game." Crowley suggested suddenly. 

Aziraphale looked up from his own reverie and raised both brows. 

“Oh?” His interest was piqued. “What sort of game?”

Crowley turned his head and whistled. The boy downstream lifted his head, and Crowley waved a hand to get him to come over. While he was walking, the demon turned his head to Aziraphale. 

“I’ve seen some locals doing this around rivers. You set a cup in the water and think up a poem in the time it takes it to float downstream. The one with the best poem wins.”

Aziraphale gave a genuine laugh that made the hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck stand up. A curious sensation passed through him. 

“Ah, so it’s a game of quick wit? That sounds delightful, although I’m not much of a poet, I’m afraid.”

Crowley shrugged, ignoring the vestiges of his reaction. “You could be. Who knows. A journey of a thousand miles starts with one step. Yeah, you, boy.” He turned his head to see the child standing beside him, curious as to why he’d been summoned over. “Let us borrow one of your cups?” He looked down at the basket of dishes in the kid’s hands, and the boy stepped back with some suspicion on his face. Aziraphale tried to coax things over. 

“Of course we can offer you something in return. How would you like to earn some currency?”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses and muttered the word for coin under his breath. Aziraphale corrected himself, and the child relented one of his teacups at the sight of a bronze qián. Crowley explained what they were going to do and offered him double to give a shout when the cup reached him. 

Once the boy turned to leave, Aziraphale wiggled his fingers and summoned forth a roll of parchment and a brush. Crowley did the same, and while the angel beside him sat upright and set his parchment neatly on a large rock beside him, he relocated. He found a log that was partially submerged in the river, partially beached, and sat on top of it. He sprawled down on his back and let one foot drape over the edge, dipping into the water. The other planted firmly on the bark, knee bent and parchment squashed against his thigh. He tipped his chin down against his chest to see the paper. 

“How can you write like that? Isn’t it uncomfortable?” 

“No criticism from the peanut gallery, please.”

Aziraphale mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch before declaring in a louder voice that he was ready. Crowley gave him a hand gesture that said he was too, and the angel released the cup into the water. 

Crowley slid his sunglasses up to his forehead and stared above him at the night sky. He was not much of a writer himself, but he did know the advice given to authors was “write what you know” and “write from the heart”. Crowley knew quite a lot. He knew Heaven intimately, he knew Hell intimately, and he was becoming fast friends with Earth. He was quite a clever fellow and tended to absorb things like a sponge wherever he went. The tricky part was the bit about the heart.

Don't misunderstand; he had a lot of feelings, and only a handful of them were negative. Over the years his anger and his grief had dulled, to be replaced with mild incredulity and cynicism. And in the time he had been on earth, the occasional run-in with his angelic acquaintance helped to soften the blow. Take his mind off of things. To say he was at peace with what had happened was a drastic exaggeration of the truth, but he supposed he was getting there. A journey of a thousand miles and all that.

His head tipped to the side and he looked at Aziraphale, who had brought the back of his brush to his lips thoughtfully before he went back to scribbling down words. It was hard not to be envious of successful people around you. People who had things you wish you did. It was hard not to be a little bit resentful, even knowing that they were completely innocent. Initially he may have felt a pang of it at the Wall, and maybe on occasion he still did. But it never lingered. All it took was a laugh from the angel to quell the turbulence in his heart.

Heart. Right, he was supposed to be writing with that just now.

Crowley's eyes hooded, and he put pen to paper.

“Got it!”

The sound of the boy hollering from across the bank of the river cut through the crickets’ song around them. Aziraphale regarded his parchment with a contented smile and held it up once the ink had dried. Crowley sat up, groaning as his back popped. 

"I won't say I told you so," Aziraphale tutted as Crowley slithered off the log to rejoin him.

"You kinda did, just now."

Crowley peered at Aziraphale's parchment and mused for him to go first. The angel corrected his posture read his words aloud:

_"Kindness in words creates confidence._  
_Kindness in thinking creates profoundness._  
_Kindness in giving creates love."_

He looked up from the parchment with a sincere grin, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes endearingly. It was evident he was quite proud of his work. Crowley stared at him for a brief moment before speaking up.

"That's it, then?"

"That's it."

"Not much of a poem, doesn't even rhyme."

"And what did you come up with?" The angel countered, seemingly unfazed by the demon's words. Crowley crumpled up his paper and shook his head.

"Couldn't come up with anything."

He flung it over his shoulder into the water despite Aziraphale's protest. The angel sighed.

"Guess you win by default, angel."

"Shall we go again?" 

"Why not? I've got all night."

* * *

Li Er was supposed to finish washing the dishes before supper, but he had gotten distracted. His mother would surely forgive him, considering this time he would be returning with a handful of bronze coins instead of just muddy cheeks, scraped knees and laughter. He could hear her voice cut through the night, a voice that could interrupt the idle games of angels and demons. He grabbed the basket of dishes and waded into the river to snatch the cup for the last time. On his way back to the shore, he saw a piece of parchment stuck to the moss of a halfway submerged boulder. His mother’s voice rang out again, and he quickly snatched the paper and shoved it into his collar before hurrying home. 

Later than night, with a stomach full of food and dry clothes on his back, he pulled out the mysterious piece of paper to read it by the moonlight from his window. As most children are wont to do, he was hopeful that it was a treasure map or perhaps some kind of note saying he was a long-lost prince and would inherit the land. He was quite disappointed with what it actually said. He crumpled it up and chucked it out the window.

_"New beginnings are disguised as painful endings"_

* * *

The interesting thing about Lao Tzu, the ancient Chinese philosopher accredited to writing the Dao De Jing (or Tao Te Ching, translated “The Book of the Way and Virtue”) and founder of Daoism, is that his existence is borderline mythological. Some say he lived in the 6th century, others the 4th. Some say he was an individual while others suggest his work was a compilation of many unknown ancient philosophers. 

Many of the particulars of Lao Tzu’s existence are still debated by historians, however one thing is certainly agreed upon. The title format “The Tao of ___” has become overused in modern publication thanks to his work. For example: The Tao of Sports, The Tao of Web Design, and The Tao of Pooh.

**Author's Note:**

> I took a Daoism class about ten years ago in my undergrad days, please forgive any mistakes! It’s been quite a while. I tried to be careful but I’m not a historian, so for any anachronisms let’s just call them miracles. 
> 
> Li Er is thought to be the name of Lao Tzu in an account that lists him as a contemporary to Confucius in the 6th century, BC. 
> 
> (Also, disclaimer: no hate to any of the Tao of ___ books. <3)


End file.
